Shelter From the Storm
by blueink3
Summary: Ficlet: Emma realizes that the storm coming isn't just Good and Evil. Black and white. There's a lot of gray, and no one knows this more than Henry. Charming Family Feels


_Shelter From the Storm_

"Kid," Emma begins, a little exasperated and a lot in love. "What on earth are you doing?"

Henry is currently struggling to move the overstuffed chair in front of the door, grunting a little bit as one of the legs gets stuck on the rug. "Gramps went grocery shopping the other day; we've got plenty of food. I figure we can just hole ourselves up, and…ugh!" He gives a shove and it unsticks itself. "And we can be safe, you know? Together."

Her heart breaks a little as she watches him line the chair up perfectly in front of the door and step back to admire his handwork. He then proceeds to grab every knickknack the shelves have on offer and starts to stack them on top.

"Kid – "

"No, this'll work!" His voice cracks and she begins to move towards him, but his shout echoes around the apartment. "I can do this!"

It freezes her halfway across the living room and she watches as the wobble in his lower lip gives him away. She sees movement to her right and turns to find her parents standing in the doorway of their bedroom. Mary Margaret is a shadow of her usually vibrant self – eyes red and body swimming in a pair of David's sweats – but as concerned as Emma is for her mother, she kind of loves that the slightest upset tone from her son will bring her entire family running.

David stands at attention, muscles taught and eyes darting for the nearest source of danger. His hand remains on Mary Margaret's hip, despite the fact that he stands in front of her, in between her and anything or anyone that might cause her harm.

Henry notices them, must notice the way that his grandfather is braced for battle and the fight in her son deserts him as he sinks down into the chair he worked so hard to move.

"I can do this, because then no one will fight, and if no one fights then no one will get hurt," comes his quiet voice.

She gets it, she really does. Regina raised him; loved him. And this decades old feud is tearing the poor boy apart. The tear that's been threatening to fall down his cheek finally does, and Emma springs into action, quickly crossing the rest of the way and kneeling down in front of him.

"Henry, it will be okay. I love you. Your grandparents love you." She swallows. "Regina loves you." She cups his face in her hands, his cheeks still small enough to fit perfectly in her palm. "We won't let anything happen to you."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

Suddenly, a large hand cards through Henry's hair and the boy looks up into the eyes of his grandfather.

"We won't hurt her."

"You can't promise that." Another tear slips and, this time, it's Mary Margaret reaching through and gently wiping it from his face.

"Not if we can help it."

He nods, because even it's not the answer he wanted, it's an answer he understands. Emma leans forward and places a kiss on his head and he lets himself be enveloped in her arms. She's pouring as much of her love as she can into the hug, hoping that it'll be some form of comfort, even though she herself feels none. Not until another set of arms wraps around them both, petite yet strong; and yet another pair on top of that, large and unyielding. And only then does Emma feel safe. Safe in the arms of her parents.

And only then does Henry pull away, give a small smile through swollen eyes, and begin to put the knickknacks back on the shelves. He allows David to help him move the chair, and when it's back in its place, he sinks into it, resting his head on Mary Margaret's thigh as she perches on the armrest. It's apparently not good enough though, because Henry wraps an arm around her waist, tugging her into the seat next to him. Her cheeks flush and she fights off a smile as she waits for Henry to settle in next to her, practically burrowing into her body.

It's the most alive she's looked since that moment in Gold's shop.

Emma feels a hand on her back and she glances up at her father, into eyes that know this is barely even the beginning. That the road ahead is along and treacherous. But for a moment, she allows herself to lean back against his shoulder as his arm drapes over hers, tugging her that much closer. And she closes her eyes, wondering if it's possible to stop time – just for a moment – so she can savor this.

This calm before the storm.


End file.
